These Moments
by Deliciously
Summary: Roach and Soap have a few things in common, and one is a love for nicotine. A brief piece to indulge myself. No slash, unless you count sharing cigarettes. Rated T in case.


**A/N**: This is a 1k word drabble, a kinda pointless and rushed one. Reason, I've always liked it when I see a person lighting anothers' cigarette, whether the recipient is friend or stranger. Call it whatever you like, but I believe it symbolizes a universal level of trust. Yep, I find the little things interesting. I myself prefer lighting my own, I'm a little personal with my smokes. ;) Do tell if I've made a mistake, my self-beta is not perfect.

**Pairing**: ...Soap/Roach only if you want it to be. Gasp! This isn't slash! Really!

**Disclaimer**: No own MW2.

* * *

Roach runs a gloved hand through his brown hair, squeezing an eye shut and grimacing, sighing as he rubs his scalp trying to ward off the ache. He pulls his hoodie over his head and rubs his hands together in an attempt to create warmth in the cold windless night.

The navy night sky has a handful of twinkling stars, and is a beautiful contrast to the soundless dark woodland stretching below him, its trees taking on a charred appearance without light. His hand roams to his pants pocket, blinking when the familiar cardboard edges are absent. 'Shit,' he mutters, patting down his jacket, frowning until he finds it in his back pocket. Flipping open his Peter Jackson blues, Gary takes the third last cigarette and bites down on it whilst replacing the pack, pulling off his right glove as well.

Gary let out a growl, dismayed as he recalls his lighter's back on his bed. He was about to spin on his heel until a voice speaks behind him.

'Need a light?' The Scottish voice asks. Gary turns his head sidelong.

His Captain stands behind him with a worn, gold Zippo lighter in hand. He flicks it open, bringing the glowing flame up to the end of Roach's cigarette. Roach's blue eyes flick up to MacTavish's then down to the now lit end, exhaling as he clears the first drag out of his mouth.

John smiles, taking a place beside Roach on the balcony. 'I smoke here, you know.'

'I know,' Roach replies instantly. John stares at him, the question mark implied. Educated guess... 'It always smelt like tobacco here,' he explains, and puts the cig back to his lips.

'Wait,' MacTavish dips his chin thoughtfully, eyes wandering over the expansive clumped trees, 'you've been up here before?'

Roach takes a deep breath and loosens up, nicotine routing its slow, fond course through his body, the opportunity for an eye-roll missed. 'Well, yeah.'

'This is my spot. No one else goes to my spot.'

The younger man raises an eyebrow._ You mean you were going to tell me to get out?_ 'You mean you haven't seen the butts underneath the table?' The cig waves frantically in his mouth while he talks.

MacTavish looks puzzled. His torso leans backward and tilts his head low enough to see that Roach was right, and scoffs. 'Bastard,' he mutters. Without the small smile on his face Roach wouldn't have taken it as a joke.

Roach grins around the filter. Then his cigarette vanishes, just like that. He jerks his head to see orange between John's teeth. 'Hey! What happened to your cigars?' Roach snarls disapprovingly.

The captain took a very deep drag, blowing the white haze in Roach's direction after banking the air for a couple seconds. 'I ran out.'

'You're gonna finish it too fast, with your monster tolerance. Give it back.'

'No. That's an official order coming from your Captain,' MacTavish says playfully, wide grin on his face.

Gary reaches over and punches John in the arm, then tugs at the hand holding the cig. '_Captain_, give it back.'

John gazes down at Gary with a stupid lopsided grin. He can't help himself. 'You found my secret hideout,' he says indignantly.

Roach lunges at him, jacket hood falling to his shoulders. Swipe and a miss. The cigarette's beyond Gary's reach now, an arm up past John's head. 'Oh, christ, MacTavish. That's just childish.'

John wiggles his eyebrow suggestively at Gary. 'I'll give it back – as long as you share it with me.' Gary looks aghast.

'Jeez, just keep it.' The man turns away, resigning to his last roll, disregarding his lack of a lighter.

'Wait, Roach – I was just kidding. Here.' John puts his idle hand on Gary's shoulder and brings the filter to his mouth, letting it hover there because his mouth is shut.

Gary glowers at his superior, gauging his captain's solemnity. After a moment he takes the cig from John's fingers using only his lips, closing his eyes. Better finish it before it finishes itself. John lets him take a puff from his hand before Roach plucks it out of his fingers.

The cigarette's half-gone already.

Gary almost snaps at him out of petulance, but he refrains, tensing his jaw instead. He leans forward on the waist-high ledge, arms crossed, the frosty night air actually reaching him now, as the silence stretched between them aches; John imitates him before studying the man's stony profile briefly.

'So, forgive me yet?' MacTavish teases, which causes Roach to duck his head and snort, inwardly fighting to contain the smirk within. 'That a no?'

His response is an angry, smoky exhale.

'I can tell when you're pissy, you know. Isn't like your silence is telling me everything.'

Roach expels another cloud of ash-grey. 'Jackass,' he says, before inclining to bring the cigarette to John's lips. The man cranes his neck and gratefully accepts, leaving enough for a generous last helping. Gary sees his lips curve upward. Then John's eyes shoot up, and they lock eyes for several seconds until he finally turns away, exhaling.

'Thanks for the smoke, Roach. See you tomorrow.' John gives him an amiable pat on the back and opens the door to inside.

Roach mutters, 'If I have any smokes left, yeah.'

'I heard that. Next time I see you here I'm gonna throw you off the edge, all right?' Gary is smirking as he throws a lateral look past his shoulder.

'Before or after you finish the rest of my pack?'

Roach misses the middle finger as he turns back to the night sky, hearing the door shut, grinning to himself.

Now with the night ahead of him, it's too quiet. Roach blows on the thin stream of smoke drifting from the lit end, curtailing the wispy smoke before it disappears to the sky. _Like magic_, he thinks, before bringing it to his lips for a final breath then crushing it against the ledge, tossing it down under the rim of the usual table as he walked back into the building.

* * *

I am so horrible at dialogue you do not even know. Please tell me if they seem in character to you, 'kay? I'll stress not knowing.


End file.
